


Sunflowers and Ruby Red Tears

by thunderstorms_and_tea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 09:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17577980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderstorms_and_tea/pseuds/thunderstorms_and_tea
Summary: Ginny Weasley has given up hope. She's in her sixth year at Hogwarts, but studying seems impossible with the war waging in the outside world. Thoughts of her last conversation with Harry keep bouncing around with her head, and she can't help wondering if she will ever see her friends again. For all she knows, they could be dead already or halfway to defeating the dark lord, and all she's accomplished has been to sit around in the castle worrying about them. It is abundantly clear that no matter if the the golden trio comes back dead or alive, things will never be the same for Ginny again. One day she might snap from all the pressure, but who's to say she won't find her own savior in a blonde-haired girl?





	Sunflowers and Ruby Red Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first story on this account. It's something I've been working on and decided to finally share. I'm still working on it but will be updating it as new chapters are finished. I love linny (an underrated ship) and this idea came to me one night. Hopefully its enjoyable to read despite how wandering or strange the story might be. I appreciate comments/feedback and/or kudos if you enjoy it :) If not, feel free to tell me why (in a constructive manner).

“Poetry comes from the highest happiness or the deepest sorrow” (A. P. J. Abdul Kalam)

If only that were true, Ginny Weasley would be writing soliloquies and ballads to rival that of Shakespeare. Or at least, would be able to get a few lines into the “creative essay” she was supposed to be writing. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be so, for she could barely get any words out onto the page in front of her before her hand would begin to shake and involuntary blot ink all over the parchment. Sure enough, just as the thought passed through her mind her hand started involuntary quivering. She stared at her fingers in dismay before forcing them to clench around the quill, then dropping it in frustration. She put her head into her hands, resting them on the armchair and shakily breathing into them. Why was she doing this? It was all fruitless anyway, with the way the war was going, it wasn’t like her essays would really matter in the future. _The war._

Anger flared up in her at the reminder, still as strong as it had been the first time she had been reminded of the war in school. As usual, the accompanying thoughts of her friends out there, fighting someone she stood no chance against, came to her in a surge. Her heart started to speed up slightly and tears came to rest behind her eyes. They threatened to spill over, so she slammed her book shut and stood up suddenly, upending the bottle of ink resting on her thigh. It made a loud thunk as it fell to the ground, causing several people to look over at her in irritation. _Screw them_ , she thought as she stormed out of the common room and started up the stairs. _Don’t they have more important things to get annoyed about? Like, for example: THE WAR? But they don’t care._ The thoughts pounded in her skull, emphasized by each stair she stomped up. _Screw them_. A step. _Screw all of them_. Another step. _They don’t know what I’m going through_. A few more steps, and up it went, her footsteps falling furiously as her pace quickened and her thoughts raced, pounding against her skull until she thought it might break with the sheer agony of it all. She tore up the staircase, burst through the door to her dorm, slamming it behind her and flinging herself onto the bed. She lay there for a moment, shocked by her own anger, the pain in her head searing as all the words in it bounced and echoed around, creating hollow and mocking verses. Her eyes began to well up with tears as the images her mind conjured demanded to be given attention.

_“I just don’t want you to be hurt in case something happens to me.” Harry didn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t think we should continue this.”_

_The guilty look on his face and his shifting stance gave away his lie. She turned away from him angrily, knowing he had known she would see through his untruths and had still chosen to say them._

_“Then go. We both know you didn’t want us to be like this. I just wish you had told me earlier.” She turned to the door and opened it. “Maybe then we could have still been okay.” She opened it and walked out, leaving him behind with the guilty face she knew he would be wearing again._

If only she had known that that would have been the last real conversation they had ever had, maybe she would have acted differently. If only she had know that now, he would be on the run from the most powerful dark wizard ever, leaving her with no idea where he was. If she had known he wouldn’t even tell her where he was going, that the only idea she had about where he was was the lack of him being captured, maybe it would have been easier to let him go. They had been falling apart for the months before that fateful day at the burrow, neither of them wanting to acknowledge it. They had found comfort in each other, comfort in their steady if not eventful relationship. They had relished the bits of warmth found in their confident if not passionate kisses. They were both holding onto childhood fantasies, she realized. Him of having a family of his own, her of being with the chosen one. Neither of them wanted to spoil that image and admit that life hadn’t drawn them together. That didn’t make it hurt any less.

Laying there on her bed, tears now slipping down her face quietly, she knew it had all been a farce they had unconsciously woven together. That didn’t stop her from wishing to know where he was or how he was doing. To at least know if he was still alive. Instead, here she was, in a school slowly being corrupted by the evil all around it, not knowing if it would still stand in a few months, not knowing if she would even be there to find out. It put some problems in perspective, to realize you might not be alive the next day. At anytime, the castle could be invaded. All of their feeble attempts at security could crash down while they were sleeping, and it would be too late to stop anything when they woke up. In a way, she might welcome that, to have it be over that soon. To know that she wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. She welcomed the oblivion if the fates decided to bring it, and she let that thought consume her as she drifted off to sleep.

~~~

That night did not bring death eaters and war, only fitful nightmares of them and much tossing and turning. When the sun finally rose and began to peek through the maroon curtains she did not welcome it, but cursed it for bringing another day upon them all. And so it all started again.

She rolled out of bed, put on her clothes and went to wash her face and brush her teeth. They were the only morning rituals she still bothered with anymore, although now she would avoid looking up to her reflection in the mirror. She was afraid to see her internal suffering reflected in the dark bags under her eyes and her knotted hair. It used to be her pride and joy, her long flowing red locks reminding her of fire and the fight she had in her, but now the neglected and tangled strands only made her think of blood, tears of agony weeping down the curve of her back. Sometimes she wished it would just all fall out, so she would have no reminder of the person she used to be, so she could start over, to be someone who could survive in the world as it was now.

Instead, she ignored it as usual and went down to breakfast. Breakfast in the great hall had also changed. It used to be the highlight of many mornings, warm buttery pastries bringing delight to her stomach. Now it was a fight to get the food in and a reminder that this day was just like the last, and just as futile. Needless to say, it was not a happy event, so it was with some relief that she allowed herself to walk to her first class of the day: History of Magic.

Although it had once been a hated class among all students due to the less than captivating lectures and uninteresting subject matter, it was now looked forward to by some, Ginny included. The once repetitive drone now became a comforting sound and the ample time between notes provided time to reset for a few seconds at a time. Coming out of the classroom, she felt a sense of fragile peace settling over her whirring emotions like a blanket.

It was no surprise, of course, that this all would be ruined as she stepped into the doorway of her next class: Defense Against the Dark Arts. Just seeing the greasy bastard of a headmaster would have been enough to tip anyone into bad spirits, but it was the topic of today’s lesson, written in slanted letters over the black chalkboard, that made Ginny’s stomach drop: Patronuses.

They had seemed sacred to her in times before, personal creations not to be shared with others. She had away felt that way, and so it was with much difficulty that Harry had managed to help her coax hers out several years ago. They had practiced the spell over and over again just to get her comfortable saying the words. It was in these lessons that they had started to get to know each other better. There were so many memories of him tied to this particular spell that it was as if each wand movement was ripping open an old wound. It had been this way whenever she had tried to cast it since the summer. She hasn’t been able to produce one since, and didn’t think today would be much of a difference. Actually, scratch that. She knew today wouldn’t be much of a difference. Yet she still dragged her feet across the floor to a spot at the back of the room, and barely listened as Snape gave the instructions she already knew too well.

_Step One: Gather your happiest memory, and focus on it._

Well, that wasn’t happening. She was barely sure she even had any happy memories left. She searched in her mind, but all that she came upon failed her. She thought about seeing Harry for the first time on the platform, of dreaming about him and then only the next year having him rescue her. She thought about the joy that had come from seeing his face again in the Chamber, and yet all the could conjure was a dull throbbing, forced lack of emotion when she though of his face this time.

She thought about going to Hogwarts for the first time. The anticipation that came from entering the platform, this time with a cart of her own things. She thought of the awe inspired by turning the corner on the train and seeing the castle looming above, the light from each window twinkling and welcoming her. The thought of how wonderful the castle had used to be, and yet all she could feel was a hatred for how it had become. For how her sanctuary had been turned into her prison. Most of all, for the people who had done that to it and to her. And so it was with a burning pit of emotion in her stomach that she turned to find one of those such people right next to her.

“Well, well, Ms. Weasley…” came the expected drawling voice. “You don’t seem to be doing too well with today’s challenge, do you?” This was accompanied by a smirk that made her very skin seem to crawl.

“In fact, I would guess you can’t even make it past the first step… am I right?” He paused. “Pathetic.” Without waiting for an answer, Snape stepped past her, looking as though he were heading off to berate some other student. He seemed to reconsider briefly, and stopped. His protruding nose came into view again as he looked back over his shoulder at her. Their eyes locked, and as she glared at him with all the ferocity she could muster, he let out a soft laugh, accompanied by a step back towards her and his unpleasant features curling into a sneer.

“Although Mr. Potter seemed to leave an impression on you, silly girl, none of his skills seemed to have been passed on… pity, really.” Something in the headmaster’s cold eyes seemed to dance when he picked on students. Many wondered if it was the one thing he really enjoyed. “I would have liked another chance to see his wonderful skills.” At the mention of Harry Potter, many students had stopped what they were doing and turned to watch and listen carefully. Snape lowered his voice slightly and added with a sarcastic touch, “although he won’t need his soon, with the way things should be turning out for him and his little friends.”

A roaring broke out in Ginny’s ears as they registered each word and something in her snapped. Before she knew it, her wand was pointing directly at the ex potions master, her gaze unwavering as she struggled to think of a curse worthy of the situation. The words were flying around in her brain, twisting and clawing at her head, screaming at her to strike down Snape. They built up a dam for her rational thoughts, and all she saw was red. She felt her magic rearing up inside her, wanting to destroy the man in front of her for voicing the things she hadn’t even dared to think directly herself. And yet a single memory managed to find its way past the dam. Harry, shaking his head at her during a DA meeting, disappointed with her lack of control over her magic. Just like that, the dam broke, her thoughts rushed back into her head, and she was left shaking and staring at her hand holding the wand out in front of her. The silence registered as she realized every inhabitant of the classroom was now staring at her. She saw some expressions confused, some outraged, some mocking, some disappointed. She saw Harry’s face in all of them.

So she ran. She stumbled out of the classroom as far as she could, running down the near deserted halls, her body shaking and trembling with her steps as she realized what she had almost done. Her stomach turned as she realized how close she had come to letting go of her control. The thoughts and emotions smashed into her and she stumbled under their weight, her pace breaking as she turned into the nearest doorway she could find: the out of order girls’ loo.

She stumbled to the grimy mirror, leaning on the sink heavily. Her breathing ragged, she looked around for things to focus on. Her gaze flicked out in front of her, recoiled, then returned to her own reflection. She started to calm slightly as she examined her appearance. Perhaps, she thought, she could find some answer to her inner turmoil coded in the freckles scattered across her face. But no, the longer she stared the only things she could find were more flaws. Her freckles were reminders of the family she could never be rid of, all the expectations set on her for being the Weasley girl. Her heart started to beat faster as she thought of the comfort she used to take in her family. That could never be now. Her heart sped up once more as the thoughts accumulated in her head. Her fingers clawed over her face almost without instruction as her nails scratched at those awful dots marring her features. And the eyes that her mother had used to exclaim held pools of warmth now only held swamps of misery, their brown looking almost black from the shadows around them. Her mother would be so disappointed to look at her now, to look at her little girl being turned into this monster, consumed from the inside out by her own thoughts, emotions, and magic. A dry sob ran through her body as her finger scratched deeper with each proceeding thought. Maybe if she just scratched a little deeper, she could scratch away that pain. She didn’t even register the hair falling gently around her in tufts as she proceeded to rip and scratch away at her hair and face. Now when people saw her, at least they would know to stay away, know not to bother the monster in the corner.

She was so engrossed in her own thoughts she didn’t hear the door opening behind her, didn’t realize another person was with her until her hands were being pulled away from her face and she was turned away from the mirror. A concerned pair of pale blue eyes looked into hers, and the hands holding hers down did not waver.

“Ginny. Stop.” Luna Lovegood whispered to her, her brow furrowing as she looked at the scratches running down the red haired girl’s face. “What are you doing?”

It must have been the shock in the other girl’s voice that stopped Ginny right in her thoughts. As long as she had known Luna, she had always been detached, staring into the distance when she spoke, her eyes never seeming completely focused, her voice never being completely steady, always a high, wavering, listless tone. Now it wavered with intense emotion and her gaze seemed to burn into Ginny’s face. She met Luna’s eyes with a shame she didn’t know she carried. She was suddenly ashamed of what she had done to herself, ashamed that she had taken herself so far into her own mind that she had to be stopped from hurting her own body, by someone who had seen her with respect now, and would now only see her with pity. She looked away, a fresh wave of misery overcoming her. All she wanted to do was disappear, leave this planet and the hell it had become and rot away like she deserved. Now she couldn’t even do that anymore.

Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because she felt arms encircling her body, drawing her close. Luna pressed Ginny against her chest in a fierce embrace, holding her there but not saying a word.

And so time passed, it could have been a minute or an hour, likely somewhere in between, but Ginny’s breathing because to steady and her trembling started to reside. And Luna still held her, even when new sobs racked her body or she struggled against the arms holding her. Luna’s hands moved to her damaged hair and stroking it, running her finders through the knots, not untangling them, for that would not be an easy job, just running her hands through it again and again, talking to her is a low voice occasionally. What she was saying, Ginny didn’t know, but eventually she felt the fight and worry seeping out of her, replaced by a dull ache and an overwhelming sense of exhaustion.

She slumped against Luna’s body as she felt herself losing consciousness at an alarming rate, feeling as though her eyelashes had turned to lead and were weighing her eyes closed. She tried to mumble out an apology or warning to Luna, but didn’t even get that far before her body gave up and she fell asleep.


End file.
